


Down A Different Road

by BeastOfTheSea



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Dumbledore Bashing, Gen, LITERALLY, just as a warning, mild disturbing imagery, oh so much character death, revolving door of St. Mungo's
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-10
Updated: 2014-08-10
Packaged: 2018-02-12 13:54:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2112459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeastOfTheSea/pseuds/BeastOfTheSea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How might things have changed if a single betrayal had not occurred?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Down A Different Road

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, I'll tell you right now -
> 
> This is somewhat cracked. And somewhat Darker and Edgier than HP canon.
> 
> It was written after midnight and sorely derailed from what it was supposed to be. (It's gen now. It was meant to be H/R/Hr.) As such, it might be a bit incoherent, but it took on such a life that I couldn't abandon it.
> 
> Also, I went a bit heavy-handed on the death toll. This is a war. The named characters usually have a good reason for dying. ...Don't shoot the author, please? *hides behind Hogwarts battlements*
> 
> * * *
> 
> Right, one more thing.
> 
> It may seem like the divergence made matters massively worse, but pay attention to the place where the rules work differently from canon early on. This is a darker-'n'-edgier take on canon, which means things were _always_ going to be more FUBAR than they were in the books. If it had not 'diverged', the death toll would likely have gone even higher - the OOTP Battle of the Ministry would have resulted in the deaths of several Order members and at least one of Harry's crew, etc. So it's not that remaining faithful paradoxically broke everything, it's that I took a heavy-handed approach because I'm tired and I decided to play the entire 'bloody war' thing for drama rather than for a massive camping trip in the Forest of Dean. 
> 
> Sorry if I sound a bit abrasive. It's 3 A.M. as I post this, and I'm tired. :P

He wondered, sometimes, in the dead of night… what might have happened if Hermione had condemned him blindly as a rule-breaker, or Ron had snapped under his envy of yet another honor for Harry Potter. They wouldn't have, he knew. Friendship that had withstood matters of life and death wouldn't be snapped so easily by a clear set-up.

Still, he wondered…

But they hadn't. They'd stood by him when the world was against him – when it became increasingly clear that someone was pulling strings at a far higher level than he understood, and Dumbledore was content to stand by and observe. How hard could it have been to rip a fourth strand out of a structure built for three? Madame Maxine and Karkaroff would have thrown all their might behind the effort, if only Dumbledore had been willing to lift a finger, and together the three Headmasters should have been able to move mountains. Yet Dumbledore only smiled, his eyes twinkling in a grandfatherly manner, and said that the Champions could not be changed once declared... Why? Why did he want Harry in the Tournament?

To flush out whoever had wanted Harry there in the first place, Hermione deduced. Fat lot of good that would do him if he died, Ron had commented, and Harry had thoroughly agreed. So they'd set out to find the culprit themselves – since Dumbledore only cared to use Harry as bait, and seemed not to either realize or care that the worm itself didn't do too well after it had been speared with the hook.

Luck and diligence had caused them to be carrying the Marauders' Map when they bumped into Mad-Eye Moody one night. And Ron, forever on edge after the disaster with Scabbers last year, had happened to glance down at it while the mad Defense teacher went on one of his rants about constant vigilance.

And had noticed that they were in fact speaking with one Barty Crouch.

He'd tried to back away inconspicuously, but Crouch had picked up more than Moody's appearance after nearly a year of impersonating him, and the ensuing fight had left Ron and Hermione in St. Mungo's. And Barty Crouch Jr. dead.

What Harry had never told anyone aside from Ron and Hermione was that it had been at his hand. As the Ministry's Dementor had approached down the hallway, Barty Crouch had awoken from his post-Veritaserum stupor from a start and looked up at Harry in terror. "Please," he'd croaked. "I've been in Azkaban. No. No." He'd been under restraining spells; he probably shouldn't have been able to move his head, but perhaps one last surge of magic had broken him free. "Not that. _Not for an eternity_." His eyes had watered. "Please," he'd begged in a high, breathy whine. "No one deserves that. Whatever I've done." His voice had cracked. " _Please_ –"

Two simple words, and the office had lit up with acid-green light. "I'm not sure what happened," Harry had said when the Ministry officials had burst in, his wand concealed up his sleeve. "He was ranting and raving, and – I think his heart gave out."

Crouch Sr. was recovered from his Imperius trance – but retired from all public affairs, a broken man. He had been found dead a year later, a scrawled note by his side and a half-emptied flask of poison rolling about on his desk. His House-Elf turned her face to the wall and refused to take any food, soon following her master.

Harry had not had it in him to care for Crouch's fate at the time. What time hadn't been spent preparing for the Third Task had been spent by the side of his two dearest friends, watching them struggle for breath as the Healers fought to batter back the rot spreading through their organs. "You took that curse for me," he whispered to Hermione. "And you, Ron – you should've just run – saved yourself – gotten a professor –"

"Are you mental?" Ron had croaked. "Couldn't leave you–"

Hermione had been too far gone to speak, but he'd thought he'd seen her give a feeble nod.

Then the Mediwizards had chased him out for disturbing the patients. Still – he swore to win the Tournament for them. Even if he had only been in it because of the sabotage of one madman –

But it seemed Dumbledore had deliberately forgotten to ask one thing during the interrogation, and Harry had been too shell-shocked to think of it, visions of the dying Ron and Hermione still burned behind his eyelids. _Have you sabotaged anything_ else _in the Tournament that we should know about?_

And so he and Cedric had seized the Cup together –

Dumbledore had been mad. He hadn't accepted death that night. He had fought with every scrap of life he had in his body to get out of the graveyard in Little Hangleton alive – to return to Hermione and Ron. No matter what it took –

And he had. He'd fled the graveyard under the cover of Priori Incantem (wouldn't it have been convenient if the Cup had remained a Portkey? No such luck, alas), his lungs burning as his trainers smacked down upon yet another side street in the dark, the yells of Death Eaters only a few turns behind him a constant din in his ears, and his mind chanting scattered prayers to whatever higher power might listen that he would live out the night. When daybreak came at long last, they scattered – but not due to any victory of Light driving out the Dark, he didn't delude himself. The Statute of Secrecy had saved his life.

And, hiding behind a dumpster, he had fallen to his knees in thanks and wept.

And almost immediately collapsed out of exhaustion.

He had stumbled into an abandoned hut, his exhausted and over-stressed brain hardly even questioning the traps that sprang up to assault him – his addled mind had concocted an explanation involving a wizard as paranoid as the true Mad-Eye Moody. At its center had been a strange ring that had called to him with icy-cold tendrils in his mind, wheedling for him to kneel for just a moment, put it on – and at that moment, his very bone-weariness had saved him, for he had lacked the mental capacity for even that task. He had evaded the traps through muscle-memory and the last feeble ghosts of adrenaline alone. With a safe space before him, he had curled up around the ring, promising that he would try it out just… as soon as… he had a little nap…

And that was how the Aurors had found him – at the center of a labyrinth of viciously deadly Dark spells, practically lying upon a savagely booby-trapped Dark artifact that fatally poisoned two of their best wizards and an outside expert before they finally discovered what it _was_. And it did the Wizarding world, already panicked by the simultaneous disappearance of the Boy-Who-Lived and Hogwarts's Champion, no good to hear rumors of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named having a _Horcrux…_

He'd returned alive, at any rate. Better than the fate of some. They never did find Cedric's body. Remembering Voldemort's massive serpent, Harry dared not venture a guess as to how the Death Eaters had disposed of his body.

Fudge had wanted to cover the whole mess up. But with the Aurors already in the area, they had swept out to the graveyard upon Harry's bleary testimony – and discovered a violated grave, trace remains of an unspeakably Dark ritual, and scarcely-concealed damage from a fight. The Death Eaters had not bothered to repair the broken gravestones, only throwing up scanty illusions to deceive Muggles before departing. The Minister could do many things. Ordering the Aurors _not_ to investigate obvious evidence of a magical battle in a Muggle-dominated area, with an unkempt and disoriented Boy-Who-Lived swearing to the resurrection of the Dark Lord, turned out not to be one of them.

And Dumbledore took it all as an opportunity for grandstanding. Naturally.

Harry returned to St. Mungo's, but this time as a patient. Apparently he hadn't evaded all the Death Eaters' spells and outwitted all Voldemort's traps – even if he had been in no state to feel the injuries at the time. With a bit of pleading, he got a bed nearby Ron and Hermione…

* * *

 

_"How'd you do it?" Ron had asked, his voice still raspy and thick from mucus and blood. "How?"  
_

_"Wanted to get back to see you," Harry mumbled. They told him they weren't sure if he'd keep his leg. Floating on pain-killing potions, even that didn't seem so bad. "Didn't want – to leave you here –"_

_"Harry, please," Hermione choked out, now improved to the point of speech. "You're wonderful, but – you didn't have to join us –"_

_Ron laughed incredulously, though it turned into a cough. "Hermione," he'd grinned weakly when he could speak again, "was that a_ joke _? I –"_

_"Enough!" the Mediwitch attending them threatened, brandishing her wand. "I'll Stun you all if you can't keep quiet and let yourselves heal!"_

_And Harry had shut his eyes and drifted off to sleep, smiling…  
_

* * *

When they were well enough to emerge from St. Mungo's, it was into an altered world. The discovery of Voldemort's Horcrux had forced him into the open, maddened by fear and rage. Dumbledore remained wretchedly squirrely about the whole matter, having reformed the Order of the Fuckup or some similar name. Fudge, in severe danger of being thrown out of office by rioting wizards before his term was even up, had decided to go out in a blaze of bile and sabotage on all sides, handing down a series of insane edicts and regulations of every sector of Wizarding life of which he could think.

At least the truth gave them support. Harry had never been sure what had happened when the student body finally snapped, but rumor had it that Hufflepuff House had risen up in the night and torn down everything having to do with the failed reign of the "High Inquistor", hexing anyone who got in their way for good measure. All that could be solidly determined the next morning was that Dolores Umbridge had become St. Mungo's newest Sealed Ward patient, the Inquisitorial Squads had all been found, carpeted with harmless but painful hexes, in Hogwarts' own Hospital Ward, and _SO PERISH ALL BIGOTS_ had been seared into a wall of the Great Hall in gold-embossed lettering. And the Hufflepuffs had looked unnaturally and terrifyingly pleased with themselves.

At least that gave someone something to rejoice over when the excesses of the First War began anew. Harry, now looked to as the Last Great Hope of the Wizarding world, began desperately drilling his fellow students in Defense in the absence of even a failure of a Defense professor. Mysterious deaths bewildered the Wizarding world – Muggles in a little village by the sea who might have once lived in a certain orphanage, Goblins who knew something of the content of certain vaults, and wizards and witches who might have once left records of themselves in an obscure nook and cranny of Hogwarts. One crazed newspaper editor theorized that these deaths had something to do with the locations of more Horcruxes, and encouraged his readers to join in "this Quest upon which the future of England hinges". He went into hiding the next day.

He was luckier than Lucius Malfoy. Regardless of what his orders might once have been, the paranoid Voldemort now regarded it as highest treason for anyone to have endangered one of his precious treasures in any way. Harry was already waiting at the gate to Hogwarts when Narcissa Malfoy walked up, dragging the drooling, twitching remnant of her husband through the dust behind her. Their wands had been snapped. She had Apparated, and then walked.

With Voldemort known to be truly invincible, the hunt for the Horcruxes began. It somehow became public rumor that Voldemort would only have three Horcruxes – one for each House, with the soul piece in his body standing for Slytherin. And, with two already discovered and destroyed, why, that meant he only had one more before he was mortal once more! Harry gave himself no prizes for guessing the source of the 'morale-improving' rumor, particularly when Dumbledore confided in him that he had reason to believe Voldemort actually had six. Four on the loose – and though Harry suspected Nagini was one, he had not the slightet idea about the others.

Kreacher, bless him and damn him, had finally realized why Regulus had wished him to destroy a well-hidden treasure of the Dark Lord's, and had given up the locket. Sirius had almost forgiven the little bastard after that.

That left two unknowns.

And meanwhile, the world burned.

* * *

 

Bill was a Curse-Breaker by training. The Death Eaters ill-liked it when their curses didn't last.

_Bill Weasley, R.I.P._

Fenrir Greyback called Remus back to the pack against his will. He planned to make an example of the "traitor to their kind". But Remus had challenged him to a fight for dominance, as was every werewolf's right; while Remus had indeed bled to death of his wounds, he had not gone down alone…

_Remus Lupin, rest in peace._

_Fenrir Greyback, rest in pieces._

Tonks proved a valuable spy to the Order, impersonating high-ranking Death Eater after high-ranking Death Eater flawlessly. But even the most flawless impersonation fell apart in the face of the Dark Lord's Legilimency.

_Nymphadora Tonks, rest in peace._

In 1996, going off of Bellatrix Lestrange's last words, Sirius used their shared blood to force his way into the Lestrange vault; sealed upon her death to anyone not of her blood or that of the now-ended Lestranges, only he and Narcissa could enter. Andromeda Tonks was no longer recognized even as a Black. Narcissa emerged with her skin sloughing off from burns and the Cup of Hufflepuff triumphantly held up in one blackened hand. Sirius did not emerge at all.

_Sirius Black, rest in peace._

Soon after, Peter Pettigrew deposited a large quantity of Death Eater correspondence on the Weasleys' doorstep, wrote a very pleasant letter to Harry in which he advised investigation into a peculiar room within Hogwarts that only appeared to those wishing to conceal, and walked calmly through the middle of London humming a tune that was popular in his youth. When the inevitable Death Eater brigade appeared, he faced them with a shit-eating grin. "Tell me," he said, "do you think Padfoot and Moony and Prongs are proud of me now?"

_Peter Pettigrew, rest in peace._

Blood flowed –

_Amelia Bones, rest in peace._

_Rufus Scrimgeour, rest in peace._

Unlikely heroes flourished –

_"You'll never take the Ministry!" Percy Weasley screamed, wild-eyed, climbing over overturned filing cabinets, his wand constantly sparking in his hand. "Take Hogwarts, take Gringotts, but the rule of law will never fall! Do you hear me? Never –"_

And others perished.

_Cadmus Dawlish, rest in peace._

_Elijah Smith, rest in peace._

_Deborah Smith, rest in peace._

_Viktor Krum, rest in peace._

_Francis Delacour, rest in peace._

_Katie Bell, rest in peace._

_Cormac McLaggen, rest in peace._

_Thaddeus Nott, rest in peace._

_Song Chang, rest in peace._

_Mason Flint, rest in peace._

Some died screaming in agony. Others died smiling

 _"You'll die within the year, dogs will lick your blood, and no one will take the Purebloods seriously for at least thirty years after you," said the captive Sybill Trelawney, serenely smiling as the Dark Lord turned a peculiar shade of pale maroon. "Oh, and Tom really is a bad name, we're agreed on that. But it's still better than Voldemort. You know, Tommy, most of us outgrow that faux-_ French _phase by the time we're fourteen –"_

With effort, they at last discovered the _correct_ item from the Room of Hidden Things within Hogwarts, and destroyed it without further causalities. A fortunate thing, that. They were growing _sick_ of death.

Of course, Dumbledore chose then to lead Harry off by himself and, after placing him under a Full Body-Bind, explain very calmly and kindly that he couldn't be allowed to live ( _what?_ ). With all the Horcruxes save two ( _two?_ ) eliminated and Nagini known, the Dark Lord's destruction lay within reach, and it was best to destroy the penultimate Horcrux _now_ , during a relative lull –

And Aberforth Dumbledore, who had chosen to tail his brother for entirely different reasons when he saw him leading a fair-faced, barely-of-age wizard off by himself on the flimsiest of pretexts, chose then to launch himself out of concealment with a roar. "NO MORE!" he had bellowed, laying into his brother with his fists. "NOT – ANOTHER – ARIANA! NEVER – AGAIN! NO MORE!"

Aberforth, no matter his age, still had a terrifying amount of strength left in his wiry limbs. And Albus Dumbledore was an old and frail man.

When Harry visited him later in his makeshift cell to ask why he'd done that for him, Aberforth had just shrugged indifferently. Strangely, Harry had felt that some great injury had been laid to rest, and Aberforth really had not much holding him to this life any more. "Doesn't matter, boy," he'd said. "Albus's dead. Sounds like Voldemort's not far from it. All I can tell you is to live your life. And do _anything_ to keep those you love safe. You hear me, boy? I don't care what they tell you about your future or what's _practical_." He all but spat the word. "Without loved ones – there's no good reason to go on living. There are reasons. But they aren't good ones." Breathing hard, he leaned his head back against the wall of his cell. "I'm coming, Ariana," Harry thought he heard him whisper. "Just wait for me a little bit longer."

He would pass away in his sleep not long after the final battle – never stood trial. For the best, really. After what came out about Dumbledore after the end of the war, no one really wanted to hear the name of Dumbledore ever again.

As for the Horcrux in Harry, it didn't take his death to get rid of it after all. Just fairly extensive surgery. And he was bedridden while he regained full cognitive capacity after undergoing seventy-two hours of marathon work by the best magical surgeons in Great Britain, but it wasn't as though that would majorly effect the war effort… not unless Voldemort chose right then to launch a full-scale assault upon Hogwarts…

* * *

And then _Neville_ , of all people, killed Voldemort. 

From what Harry gleaned, the Order and Auror Corps. had held their own at the gates of Hogwarts. A heroic effort, if a bloody one. No matter what Dark creatures Voldemort's forces threw their way, they drove them back. Not without a few slipping through – the best of the Defense Association guarded Hogwarts itself, and several gave their lives to destroy back the monsters that reached the school.

And then, somehow, a group of the enemy appeared _behind_ them and stared cutting them down – in the chaos, they broke ranks, and it seemed that surely all was lost.

And then the hue and cry went up that the Dark Lord was no more.

_What?_

It seemed Neville Longbottom hadn't really intended to _live_ once Voldemort showed up unexpectedly via the Forbidden Forest (where Death Eater sympathizers had apparently carved a hole in Hogwarts' anti-Apparition wards), a full battalion of Death Eaters in tow, and drove the student defensive line into full rout. He just took up the Sword of Gryffindor from where Lavender Brown had dropped it when she killed the great black Wyrm and herself perished in the deed, girded himself about with a suit of light armor in Gryffindor colors that some maniac had dragged out from a storeroom in the first crazed hours of the siege, and charged the Dark Lord.

Voldemort had laughed. And, in his arrogance, not grasped that a huffing-and-puffing lunatic who seemed to barely be able to hold up his blade was still _a maniac with a bloody great sword_.

And Gryffindor's blade of old was no ordinary sword: of the finest goblin-work it was made, and laid about with the greatest enchantments that legendary wizard could devise. And Voldemort, without his Horcruxes, was mortal.

 _Snicker-snack_ went Longbottom's swings, and off came the head of the great serpent Nagini. And then followed her master's.

And that was the end of the war. Right there. Not with Chosen Ones and unfathomable twists of wandlore, but with one lunatic with a blade.

So these things often go, really.

* * *

 

 " _I don't care," Harry said, lying back in his bed at Grimmauld Place. "Let Neville get the credit. All I want is a long rest." He shut his eyes. "And, perhaps, a sandwich."_

_"But you're the one who discovered the first Horcrux, Harry," Hermione said, ringing the bell for Kreacher. Harry inwardly groaned; he'd get half a dozen sandwiches and probably a full canteen of soup for an appetizer. The destruction of the Horcruxes had left Kreacher hideously enthusiastic to express his thanks to "the successor of great Master Regulus"._

_"And destroyed one before you even knew what it was," Ron added._

_"Doesn't matter," Harry muttered. "Luck. Sheer luck."_

_"But that is how Neville killed Voldemort," Hermione said. "Luck."_

_"You're telling me. So much of this world seems up to luck." Harry grimaced. His head still felt hollow where they'd removed all traces of the Horcrux. He privately wondered if he'd ever feel whole again. "You know, I think I'd be happy if I could just be a regular bloke for a while. Consider myself truly lucky."_

_"I don't know, mate," Ron said. "Might be awfully hard, with all the press milling about. But we could try." He sighed. "What do you say to changing our identities and moving to Australia?"_


End file.
